


Come To Me

by bowiebaby



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: All that father son bonding we missed out in, Based on the mid-credit scene from Season 3, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Billy is not well, Billy is there too, Billy survives the Bite, Bonding, Captivity, Depictions of violence and injuries, He talks about his Father's abuse, Hopper in Russian Captivity, Hopper talks about Sarah, Other, Reconciliation, Surviving together, Theory Fic!, Theory explained inside in notes, and his Mother, demagorgon, hopper caring for billy, mind flayer - Freeform, posession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 04:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19822918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowiebaby/pseuds/bowiebaby
Summary: Movement goes on behind the guy, another officer stumbles in, dragging something into the cell with him. He shoves it onto the floor and yells, spitting at Hopper, gesturing to the thing he’s dumped into the cell and back to him.He can do nothing but sit there, limbs heavy like lead and stare as the officers straighten, turn and back their way out of the cell.“Hey! Wait!”He throws himself forwards, hands scrabbling at the ankles of their boots but he’s too weak to even grasp the leather properly and the officer kicks at him. The door slams shut behind them, lock clicking back into place and they move off, muttering in Russian until their voices fade and its quiet again.He groans, pushes himself back up to sit against the wall and scrubs a hand over his eyes. He looks at the thing they dumped into the cell and his heart stutters in his chest.“Holy shit, Billy? Billy is that you?”





	Come To Me

Hopper groans as he comes to.

Its cold where he is. The ground is hard stone, seeping into his bones and chilling him to his core. He groans and blinks, harsh, luminescent lights blinding his vision as he peels his eyes open. He rolls over, hands scraping on the cold stone, so cold it feels wet.

His entire body aches, his very bones feel like they are on fire. He grunts as he pushes himself to sit up, feeling his body protest, every muscle complains as he makes himself move.

He’s in a cell. A small, stone walled cell. It boasts nothing more than a bench as a bed, a small metal toilet sits in one corner, the walls are bear and there are no windows.

There _is_ a door. A huge, metal door with a serving hatch. He forces himself to crawl over to it, drags his legs heavy behind him and his fingernails scrape on the metal as he tries to bang on it.

“Hey!”

His voice is a hoarse rasp, his lips feel dry and his mouth is like cotton. He feels like every bad hangover he’s ever had has come crashing onto him all at once. His stomach rolls and he doubles over, squeezing his eyes shut against the unforgiving light.

“Hey! Anybody out there! Where the hell am I?”

He shouts himself hoarse, banging against the metal again and again, the sound ringing in the small space.

He tires himself out eventually. His vision swoops and he sees spots of black appear in his vision. His hand falls from the door to thud against his side, his body feels heavy and tired and his head thuds against the stone again.

He thinks of the nice, comfortable bed he had in the cabin. The cabin that used to smell like damp, then started smelling like Eggos and smoke. The cabin that had music playing, the TV blaring and soft, little feet padding across the floor. He thinks of El’s smiling face as she prods him awake to watch old cowboy movies, cuddled up to his side on the couch, feeling small and warm against him.

His eyes fall shut and his world goes black once more.

V

When he wakes again, its to the sound of footsteps.

He jerks and blinks, shoves himself to sit up against the door and stills, listening.

He can hear male voices, shouting in Russian, words he doesn’t understand.

“Hey!”

They ignore him, continue speaking and he hears them stop close. He can see shadows of feet moving around under the crack of the door and he tries to get his body to listen to him, to get to his feet and fight his way out.

The jingle of keys reaches him, one sliding into the door and the heavy, metallic click as it open. Its thrown open with a harsh creak, thuds against his leg and a gun is thrust into his face. He stares down the barrel, blinking and woozy and his vision blurs as he looks up into the face of the guy yelling at him. He’s wearing a uniform, the same uniform he stole back in Hawkins. He yells at him, but Hopper’s head isn’t cooperating. He slumps and tries to reach out a hand, tries to find the will to grab the guy, the gun, anything.

Movement goes on behind the guy, another officer stumbles in, dragging something into the cell with him. He shoves it onto the floor and yells, spitting at Hopper, gesturing to the thing he’s dumped into the cell and back to him.

He can do nothing but sit there, limbs heavy like lead and stare as the officers straighten, turn and back their way out of the cell.

“Hey! Wait!”

He throws himself forwards, hands scrabbling at the ankles of their boots but he’s too weak to even grasp the leather properly and the officer kicks at him. The door slams shut behind them, lock clicking back into place and they move off, muttering in Russian until their voices fade and its quiet again.

He groans, pushes himself back up to sit against the wall and scrubs a hand over his eyes. He looks at the thing they dumped into the cell and his heart stutters in his chest.

“Holy shit, Billy? Billy is that you?”

He lies in a heap on the floor. He wears dirty, grey overalls like a prisoner and Hopper blearily realises he is wearing the same. Baggy, grey trousers, a dirty white wife-beater and grey shirt. He crawls his way over to him. His feet are bare, golden, curly hair a matted mess, stuck to his head with blood and grime and some kind of black liquid.

“Hey, kid, can you hear me?”

His hands grab onto his shoulder, feeling him still and limp in his hold. He tugs him to roll over onto his back and his heart lurches in his chest at the sight of the dark stain of red blotches all over his chest.

“Jesus, kid, what have they done to you?”

Billy lolls about on the floor, eyes shut, face sunken and ashy, looking pale and sick. His curls stick to his sweaty face. A frown deepens his brow as Hopper shakes him again, movement returning to him as Billy grunts, squeezes his eyes shut before opening them, blinking blearily up at him.

“Chief?”

Jim sighs in relief, brushing his hair away from his face and watching as Billy blinks again, shaking his head and trying to sit up.

“Hey, take it easy, you don’t look so good.”

Billy scoffs, forces himself to his elbow and shoves his body up to sit against the wall. He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. He’s got a deep cut on his cheek, a split lip and he groans and presses a hand against the blood soaking his shirt, making it stick to his skin.

“Where the fuck are we?”

“I don’t know, kid. I just woke up in here.”

Billy looks around the cell, frowning as he takes in his surroundings.

“Are we in jail?”

Hopper scoffs, sits back when he’s sure Billy can support himself, leaning against the opposing wall and watching him warily.

“This aint no prison I’ve ever seen. I think the Russians took us.”

“Russians?”

Billy looks at him like he’s grown a second head and Jim sighs.

“What do you remember?”

Billy takes a moment to think, frowning down at the stone floor, face pinched like he’s smelling something disgusting.

“Not much. I remember driving. I was going somewhere, at night, I think. Something hit my car. Then…then.”

His eyes cut to hopper, body stiffening, “something attacked me. Some big, horrible thing.”

His hand flies to his mouth, fingers pressing into his skin like he’s checking if something is there.

“It did something to me. I couldn’t – it wasn’t me -”

He fixes Jim with a wild gaze, looking half terrified.

“Hop, I swear it wasn’t me. He made me do it. I swear, I couldn’t do anything – “

“- Hey, hey just calm down, kid. I know. Trust me, I know.”

That seems to calm him. Billy sits back against the wall, looking greyer and exhausted. He looks down at his chest and grunts in pain.

“What happened to you?”

Billy shakes his head, looking at his feet.

“That girl. The one with the powers. He wanted me to bring her to him.”

Jim shifts, fists curling at his sides.

“She told me things. Things I couldn’t remember. About my Mom – about my Dad. I, I had forgot. I didn’t realise I had memories like that. That’s what he makes you feel. Like there’s nothing good in you anymore, like you’re already bad, he’s just finishing the job.”

Neil Hargove. The guy had been on Hopper’s list since he rolled into town. Drunken and disorderly charges at the local bars. Yelling and thudding coming from his home whenever Billy was there. Sightings of Billy sleeping the night in his car up on the Quarry. The blond sporting bruises and cuts without Hopper ever hearing of any fights aside from his with Steve Harrington. It hadn’t taken much for him to figure it out. A quick word with Max about her father’s relationship with Billy, how her face had paled and her eyes darted about in fear. He knew all about what the guy did to his son.

“She helped me. She helped me fight him, take back control. I thought he killed me. I felt it all over me, the pain, I felt the blood, I felt myself die.”

He watches warily as Billy’s chest heaves, looking down at his blood-soaked chest in confusion and panic.

“You saved them?”

The kid scoffs, looks away into the cell and grits his teeth.

“I didn’t do much saving.”

“Hey. You helped them close the gate. Without you, that girl would be dead. I owe you one for that.”

Billy looks at him like he’s about to cry and it pulls at his heart. He’s a good kid. Probably didn’t know much else other than his Dad’s anger. Hopper knows from experience what that can do to a person, especially from a young age. He’s just a kid who’s been dealt a bad hand and never been given a kind word to help him deal with it.

“The girl, she’s my kid,” he says, settling back against the wall and sighing.

Billy watches him warily, “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

Hopper nods, fingers twitching for a cigarette, “I had two. Sarah was my first. She died, Cancer. I adopted my second one. Eleven’s her name.”

Billy frowns, “He told me about her. That she’s special. Has powers.”

Hopper nods, “yeah. She was brought up in a lab. Shit went down in Hawkins the past few years and I wound up keeping her.”

He chuckles, despite the circumstances, warmed by the memory of her, “she’s strong.”

Billy smiles lightly, picking at the fabric of his pants.

“I learned that first-hand. She threw me through a brick wall.”

Hopper’s brows rise and he can’t fight the small smile that pulls at his lips.

“Atta girl.”

Billy snorts out a laugh and grimaces, a hand coming to his chest.

“What was the shit that went down?”

“It’s a long story.”

It’s Billy’s turn to chuckle, nodding to the rest of the cell, “we’ve got time.”

V

Billy listens in silence as Jim talks. He tells him everything. About The Upside Down. About El. About Hawkins lab and her ‘Papa.’ He tells him about Will’s possession and he sits forward as he listens, despite the pain in his chest. He tells him about the Russians and the Mind Flayer and the Gate, the keys and the experiments.

He talks until his voice is hoarse and he’s aching for a drink of water. When he’s done, they sit in silence as Billy mulls it over in his head.

Hopper watches him warily. He doesn’t like how pale he’s got. How sunken his eyes look and how he groan more and more in pain, his hands keep pressing to the patches of blood soaking through his shirt.

“Billy, you should lie down. Get some rest. You look like you need a Doctor.”

Billy rolls his eyes and its strange how much relief that brings him, seeing him do something other that sit there and look broken.

“Fat chance of that. Those guys are probably waiting around for me to kick it.”

“Hey, get some rest. That’s an order.”

Billy’s lips quirk up at the corners, but his eyes blink heavily. He glances to the bench and grimaces.

“I don’t think I can move.”

Hopper pushes himself to his feet, feeling a less woozy. They must have drugged him earlier. He feels better now, still in pain but less groggy. He leans down and Billy holds on to his shoulders, lets him haul him to his feet. He stumbles and sags against his frame, shouting out in pain but he grits his teeth, jaw flexing and they stumble into the back of the cell. Hopper lowers him gingerly to the bench, all cold, hard wood but its better than the stone floor. He lies out in the small space, eyes shut, face pinched in pain and he stills.

Hopper stands over him, watching him worriedly as he breathes raggedly.

“You going to watch me sleep or something?”

Hopper rolls his eyes and backs away, settles himself down against the wall again and watches the door.

Soon enough Billy’s breathing evens out and the cell goes quiet once more.

V

They form an odd sort of kin-ship. He’s lost count of the number of days they’ve been here.

He’s shouted himself hoarse, banged on the door until his fists are purple and cut. He’s tried every single corner of this stone prison, finding no possible wat of escape.

Hopper lurches awake to the hum of the light overhead. He looks about the cell wildly, the fading ropes of sleep slipping away from him, taking those awful images with them. Images of that machine whirring next to him, the look on Joyce’s tear-stained face as she realised what he was about to do. How she had sobbed, ducked her head and pulled the keys. How he had turned and ran to the Gate, thrown his body into the gap and watched it seal shut behind him.

He had wandered for miles in that dark, horrible, cold place. He had felt the rumble of thunder in the very ground, watched the crack of red lightning shatter overhead. He can’ say for sure how long he had been in that place. Days felt like weeks. Weeks felt like months.

Eventually, exhausted and starving, he had collapsed where he stood. When he opened his eyes again, he was in this cell.

Rasping breathing has him darting his eyes towards the body lying to the back of the cell.

Billy is gasping and panting in his sleep, an awful, ragged sound. Hopper surges to his feet and hurries over, the kid’s once sun-kissed skin now ashen and pale, taking on a sickly green tinge at the edges. His chest heaves, more blood soaking through and his face glistens in sweat.

Hopper curses, drops to his protesting knees and pries the shirt up the kid’s body as gently as he can.

His torso is a mess of marred, twisting gashes. They look like bites, all deep, pointed cuts in circular formations. His skin looks bubbled and grotesque, almost like it’s moving in the light. He’s running a fever, most likely got a terrible infection from his injuries. Fear seizes Hopper anew and he stumbles to the door, kicking against it, screaming and throwing his fists against the cold metal.

“Hey! Medic! He needs a medic! Someone help him!”

He bangs on the door until his arms hurt, the rusted ridges cut his skin. Eventually, he hears movement. Booted footsteps hurrying to him from down the corridor. Something is smacked against the door and a face appears in the sliding slot. An officer yells at him and he backs away in understanding, hands raised and presses himself to the wall.

The lock clicks and the door is thrown open and once more a gun is levelled at his face with a few words shouted at him in Russian. Hop complies, Billy’s interest is at best here and as long as he is submissive to these officers, he can get some help.

Another officer comes into the room, looks at Hopper then looks over to Billy who is still gasping and writhing on the bench. He crosses the room, Billy’s shirt is still tugged up from Hopper’s examination of his wounds and the Officer bends low, looks at them for a long time.

“They’re infected. He’s running a fever. He needs a Doctor.”

The gun is shoved closer to his face, more words barked at him and he grits is teeth, hoping they take mercy on the kid and get him help.

The one looking down at Billy yells something and scuffling happens behind the door. Hopper sags in relief as a man comes into the space wearing a white lab coat. He glares at Hopper but his expression softens when he nears Billy, crouches down to his level. He shines a light in the kid’s eyes, nods and presses his hand against his forehead. He looks down at the mangle of scars across the kid’s chest. He touches a few and Billy hisses and jerks in pain, eyes fluttering open and shut.

The guy just nods, looking pleased.

“He’s sick. He needs medication. Medicine!”

Pain flares across his jaw as the butt of the gun is fired into him. He falls to his knee and presses his hand to the hit, pain flaring all across his face.

The Doctor looks at him then at the other officer, looking far too pleased for Hooper’s liking.

He says something in Russian, smiling and gesturing to Billy excitedly.

Hopper may be a small-town cop. But, if spending over 48 hours with Alexei and Murry did anything. It was some Russian nonsense repeated to him over and over again, translations fired out and important words holding meaning that made him pay some attention. He recognises some phrases the doctor says.

“зараженный.”

Infected.

“изменения.”

Changing.

“укусить.”

Bite.

Bitten. Contaminated. Changing.

Something along those lines.

The Doctor leaves the cell and the Officers glare into his face before following, gesturing to Billy and saying more meaningless words before slamming the door behind them and bolting the lock.

Jim crawls his way over to Billy. He’s writhing in his sleep still, sweat coating his hair to his face. His eyeballs roll beneath his lids and small whimpers escape him.

Hopper shakes his shoulder, “Billy. Wake up.”

His eyes fly open and the breath escapes Hopper’s lungs at the sight of black threading through the white, yellowed at the corners, pupils dilated even in the bright light of the lamp over head. The lights flicker and threaten to go out and Billy’s body lurches and the skin of his chest seems to shift, like there is some things crawling around beneath his marred skin.

He surges up, the light beams back, bright and humming in the small space and the blond gasps and coughs, shaking as he comes to his senses. Hopper raises a cautious hand to his back and feels his skin cold and clammy beneath his clothes that stick to him.

“How you feeling?”

Billy sighs, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes before turning them to Hopper. They look normal again, he would be able to convince himself that what he had saw was simply a trick of his mind. He could, easily. But he’s seen too many things to believe in fables anymore.

Billy nods, chest heaving and the fabric of his shirt falls down his chest and he grimaces. He tugs it down carefully, peeling the blood-soaked fabric over his ruined skin and kicks his legs over the side of the bed.

“How long was I out?”

His voice is hoarse and barely there. He leans his elbows on his knees and tries to regain his breathing. Hopper kneels there watching him carefully.

“A few hours. A doctor came to see you. I didn’t understand much of what they said. Something about an infection.”

He watches Billy uneasily as he says it, slowly. Billy shakes his head and shifts, trying to sit comfortably.

“Don’t take a doctor to work that out.”

“You need medicine. You’re not doing good. The Flayer really did a number on you.”

Billy shakes his head, “they won’t want me to get medicine.”

“How do you know that?”

He turns tired eyes to him, looking sunken in his pale face, “you said when El got bit it infected her leg. She had to rip something out of her.”

He watches Billy lean back, chest heaving and eyes pinched shut in pain.

“It bit me so many times. I’ll have it’s infection running through me. They’ll be watching to see what it does.”

Hopper doesn’t know what to say. He feels the truth ringing through the kid’s words and he feels his gut fall.

Billy’s nothing more than an experiment to these people. A test subject to watch, poke and prod at when they want.

If Billy’s here to be experimented on. Why is Jim here?

“I feel sick.”

Billy stumbles forwards and falls just in time at the toilet. He retches, vomiting into the rusted metal. Hopper hurriedly crawls over, threads his fingers into dirty, golden hair and pulls it back from his face. He places a hand on Billy’s back and rubs it slowly.

“Okay, kid, it’s okay. Just get it out.”

Billy’s body heaves until he’s got nothing left. Hopper keeps rubbing and frowns when the knobs of his spine press back against his palm.

“Kid, you’re not looking so good.”

Billy coughs and spits into the toilet, “yeah, no shit, old man.”

“No, I mean you’re getting thinner.”

“Well they’re not exactly sending out three course meals for us, are they, Hop?”

He moves back as Billy does, spitting into the toilet and pulling the flush. He grimaces and turns, leaning against the cell door and sighs.

They’re quiet for a long time. Hopper just listens to the hum of the light, the ragged breathing of Billy, the frantic beat of his own heart in his ears.

“I’m going to die in here, aren’t I?”

That sends a chill through Jim’s body. Hearing Billy say that scares him. More than the Upside Down, more than waking up in this hell hole. More than those heartless Officers yelling into his face and making him stare down the barrel of their guns.

He looks across the cell at him; the crumbled, broken, sad mess of him.

He’s just a boy. A boy who misses his mother like the breath leaving his lungs. A boy who was twisted by his asshole father and never learned anything good. A boy who had never felt a soft touch since his mother. A boy who was brought to hell through the mind flayer and thinks he is a monster to his core. A boy who tried to fight it, who had only one happy memory to pull him from the dark. A boy who fought with everything he had left in him to save the life of a girl he didn’t even know. A boy who wanted with his last words for his sister to know he was sorry and wanted deep down to be a better brother to her. A boy who has been dealt a bad hand and doesn’t deserve the hell he’s going through.

“I’m not going to let that happen.”

His voice is stronger than he feels.

Billy’s lips curl at the corners but its sour. Jim doesn’t miss the tear that falls down his cheeks, drips from his chin to join the sodden mess of his shirt.

Billy doesn’t say anything for a long time. Neither of them do.

Despite Hopper’s protesting, Billy takes the floor and glares at Hopper stubbornly until he sighs and folds himself down onto the wooden bench. It’s just as hard as the floor but the cold doesn’t seep into his blood. He lied back on it, glaring up at the ceiling, finding no sleep. Eventually, he sighs and turns his head to look at Billy lying on the floor in concern. He’s got his eyes closed and his hands by his sides, lying facing the ceiling, unnaturally still.

“You better still be kicking.”

Billy’s cheeks twitches in amusement, “shut up.”

“Was just checking, you look like you’re hardly breathing.”

“I’m pretending I’m sunbathing, back on the rocks at the beach in Cali and the pain in my chest is just some really bad sunburn.”

That makes Hopper laugh, he can’t help it. The absurdity of the situation, the constant cloud of fear hanging over them, the company of Billy Hargrove, of all people. Small things are now funnier to him, any little glimmer of joy he grabs at.

“Do you miss it?”

Billy pauses for a while and Hopper just watches his shallow breathing.

“Every day,” he says in a sigh.

“Never been. Lived in Hawkins most of my life, was a big city cop for a while, but never been to the sunshine state. Or that side of the country at all.”

“You never wanted to just take off?”

“Sure, but being Chief is a full-time gig, especially in that messed up town. I don’t get much time for holidays.”

Billy hums at that, eyes still closed, “I always planned to go back after graduation. Been saving up the money, was going to turn eighteen. Pack up my car and leave Hawkins and my Dad in the dirt.”

Billy’s fingers start moving back and forth against the stone and it reminds Jim of the girls in the movies playing with the sand at the beach, how Sarah used to run her fingers through the grains in the sandbox at the playpark.

“Your Mom there?”

He resists cringing when he asks, braced for Billy’s fire, to throw up his barriers, haunches raised. Instead, he just nods his head, necklace clinking against its chain on his chest.

“Yeah. She left my Dad when I was nine. Don’t really blame her, he beat the shit out of her and she couldn’t take it anymore.”

He says it like he’s just commenting on the weather. Jim wonders if this situation they have found themselves in has blown Billy’s walls down, like he doesn’t see a point in them anymore. It makes him sad, makes him pity the kid.

“My wife left me after Sarah died.”

He decides then that honesty is his best policy. He’s noticed the kid has a thing about lies. He values the truth, and Hopper can respect that.

“We couldn’t make it work. She looked so much like her mother, and every time I looked at my wife, all I could see was her. I started working more and more, stopped opening up to her. I just completely shut down and she didn’t deserve that. She lost a kid too, and all I could do was bury myself in work and try not to think about it.”

Billy’s watching him now. Blue eyes peeled open and head tilted to the side. He doesn’t look at Hopper full of pity. He doesn’t look at him like he’s at fault. He just looks like he understands, like he knows exactly how Hopper feels.

“I’m sorry.”

Jim nods, wiping at his eyes, “I’m sorry too, kid.”

He’s not sure what he’s apologising for. All he knows is this boy doesn’t deserve what he has been put through, what he’s currently going through. He sees so much potential in him and he hates to see it wasted. In another life, he could make a pretty good Cop.

Billy just turns his head back to the ceiling and closes his eyes. Hopper watches him breathe and thinks of Sarah’s little chest going up and down throughout the night when he used to sit awake, watching her.

Her hair had been golden too. Her eyes the same blue.

V

The officers don’t return. Food is pushed through a serving hatch at the bottom of the door to them twice a day. Nothing more that grovels of sludge and stale bread and water. They eat it like it’s a feast, but more and more, Billy leaves his plate half touched.

Soon enough, he doesn’t even look at it when the tray slides through.

Hooper implores him to eat, tried force feeding him once or twice only to be thrown off with a spit of harsh words and a snarl.

He doesn’t like it. Billy still grimaces in pain. His chest still soaks his shirt so there is no white left anymore, only reddish brown and a sickly yellow puss. His skin has started stretching tight over his bones. His face is more angular and his eyes more sunken. He’s as grey as the stone around them, his clothes hang off his frame and Jim can’t remember the last time he saw the boy manage to stand upright.

He’s in no better shape. The diet he’s been promising to go on for years suddenly thrown upon him. His clothes fit looser on him, but he eats every scrap of food that is sent his way and he tries to keep moving. He paces the cell, mind running through a million plans to escape. His beard has grown out to touch his chest and his hair falls into his eyes.

Billy sits on the wooden bench, long legs stretched out before him, his back against the wall. He stares and stares at the floor, face pinched in a frown, eyes moving around every now and then as he thinks and thinks.

He shudders and moans, sweat making his skin glisten and Hopper bites at his knuckles, frown deep with worry from where he eventually ceased his pacing and sat on the floor.

“Jesus, kid, you gotta help me out here. Tell me what to do.”

Billy just shakes his head, fingers picking at the hem of his shit.

“I don’t know anymore. I don’t know.”

His voice has been hoarse and nothing more than a whisper for some time now. He looks helpless and Hopper hates it. He needs that spark of life he saw in Billy before. The little flame burning inside him that was snide and cheeky but made Hopper cling to hope that he was going to be okay, that they would get out of this mess. With every hour that passes, that glimmer seems to fade and fade until Hopper has almost lost sight of it.

Billy kicks off the bed suddenly, lurching towards the toilet again and Hopper goes automatically to him. He holds his hair back again as he retches into the bowl. He frowns as he watches his shoulders shudder, thin fingers gripping the tiles. He’s been like this for days. He’s not sure how many, but he knows there is nothing inside Billy for him to bring up anymore, so he just sits there and dry-heaves horribly and Hopper has learned to just shut up and let him get on with it.

When he eventually stills, Jim pulls some of the hair he had missed back and stops when the strands come lose. Thick clumps of golden curls break free from Billy’s scalp, pulled out easily by Hopper’s dirty hands.

“What the fuck?”

Billy spits and turns to him, eyes shining red, tears streaking his face, looking drawn and pale and awful.

“What’s the matter?”

Hopper holds up his hands numbly, watching those sunken, blue eyes dart down to the strands of hair in his palms.

“The hell?”

Billy runs his fingers through his hair, pulling them away gently and gasps when more comes out. He fixes wild eyes on Hopper and sobs.

“What the hell is happening to me?”

Hopper can do nothing but stare. The situation all too familiar to him. 

“What the Hell is happening to me!?” Billy roars, surging to his feet, pushing past Hopper and bangs on the door. He stumbles and falls against the heavy metal, weak fists batting against it.

Hopper just sits and stares because he can see patches of Billy’s scalp through his hair and more just falls out with his weak movements.

Suddenly, Billy jerks and shudders. His body slides to the floor and he curls in on himself and clutches at his chest, moaning and whimpering.

“Billy? Billy, what’s happening?”

Billy’s hands fly to his head, fisting against his temples and more hair falls out, strewn across the dirty floor as he jerks again.

“He’s – He’s in my head.”

“What do you mean? Who is in your head?”

“Him. He’s screaming in my head. He wants me to go to him.”

“Go to him? Billy – Billy!”

Billy shudders and suddenly jerks, body going ramrod straight and his eyes fly open wide, black threading through the white until there is hardly any left. His skin seems to move and pull tighter across his skin. His hair falls out until there is none left. His face seems to shift and his lips pop and move like they are getting thinner.

“Jesus Christ, help! Help us!”

Hopper bangs and bangs on the metal door, eyes frantic on Billy as he shakes and shudders, eyes wide above him.

The door is thrown open and he is shoved against the wall. Movement fires up all around and that same man in the lab coat comes in, kneels by Billy’s side who just lies there, mouth gaping open and skin glistening and unnaturally pale and tight.

The Doctor shouts something and officers pile in. They grab Billy and haul him out the cell.

“Hey. Wait! Where are you taking him?”

Hopper surges forwards and the gun he’s become so acquainted with is cocked and shoved hard against his neck.

The Officer shouts something into his face and Hopper can only guess the meaning.

Move and you die.

He grits his teeth, hand up either side of his head in surrender and can do nothing but watch as Billy disappears from the cell.

“What are you doing to him?” He asks, voice low and dangerous.

The officer just smirks at him and backs out of the cell slowly, the door flying shut behind him and the lock sliding into place.

“Let me out! Let me out you fucking bastards! Let us go!”

No one is there to hear him.

V

Billy blinks as he is wheeled down the corridor. Dirty, rusty walls encase him in and the straps keeping him tied to the gurney are tight, cut into his skin.

He can see lights flashing past as he is moved. The click of booted heels on the floor. The shouts of men’s voices, speaking Russian above him.

His head lolls to the side, he can’t even find the energy to move. His very blood feels like its on fire. His skin feels stretched. His face feels tight, he can’t seem to open his mouth and his vision is blurred and his eyelids don’t seem to want to stay open. After a time, they close and remain closed.

He can still hear them.

He can _smell_ them. The sweat on their skin. The musk of their overalls.

The blood rushing through their veins.

He feels the straps loosen. His limbs feel longer, wiry, he can feel the grip of gloved hands on his skin as he is pulled from the gurney and deposited on a wet, cold ground.

He reels his head back and snarls.

They shout out some words in Russian and step back.

The voice in his head screams at him.

**Come to me.**

**Come to me.**

He shakes his head and sprawls out on all fours, feels the stance more comfortable, his arms feel longer. He can hear so much, can hear every little drop of water and the hum of the lights and the creak of the metal cage around him.

He can’t remember how he got here. He can’t remember who he is. Does he have a name?

All he knows is the voice in his head calling to him, horrible and real and familiar.

**Come to me.**

He reels back and opens his mouth.

A petal like mouth that opens and he can feel the rows of his teeth with his tongue. He breathes and can taste the air, can taste blood and dirt.

He screams, an awful, horrible, blood-curling scream.

New strength courses through is veins. He can see now, his vision grey and weak but his other senses feel alive and heightened.

He screeches and claws with long fingers at the floor. He can make out the officers and lab coated men staring at him. One man nods to them, looking at him immensely pleased and nods to two officers who turn and walk off out of the room.

The heavy groan of metal sounds behind him and he can sense the room it promises; cold and dark and wet.

**Just how I like it.**

V

Hopper has thumped on the door for so long he can barely move his arms anymore.

His voice is hoarse and sore from shouting, his fingernails red from clawing at the metal.

He sags in defeat, pressing his cheek to the cold, solid weight of it and listens.

He can’t hear Billy anymore. He doesn’t know how long it has been since they took him.

He wonders what has become of the kid. Whether he’s still alive and kicking or of he finally succumbed to his wounds.

The click of boots on the floor reach him, but he can’t move, can barely keep his eyes open.

The feet pause at his door but then a voice calls out and he knows what they are saying, he’s heard Murry and Alexei refer to him with that word plenty of times.

“Not the American.”

The feet move off and he can hear another door cell open and the screeches of a man yelling. His heart sinks when he hears the language he speaks and folds himself onto the floor.

His eyes slide shut as he listens to the fading sounds of the man walking away, screaming and kicking as the guards take him wherever they plan to go.

He wonders if its where Billy is too.

**Author's Note:**

> SO the end credit scene got me thinking. 
> 
> My Theory is that Hopper is alive and is indeed the American in the cell.
> 
> BUT
> 
> When EL got bit by the Flayer she got 'infected' and they had to cut it out of her. Billy got bit multiple times and we can assume got infected also, but no one cut that out of him. I also found it strange that there was no aftermath shot of his death. No body, no funeral, just the scene with Max in his room. Not even a mention of it.  
> I don;t think he is still alive, but the sight of the Gorgon at the end really stuck with me. Especially since its skin was so human-like.  
> So, my theory is that perhaps Billy was taken by the Russians - pr his body was at least. And perhaps, he over time got infected worse and eventually turns into a Demogorgon. I also wonder if that us how they are created. Since they don;t seem to be running about in the Upside down. I also found it strange that there was another Billy and already infected people inside the Upside Down before Billy was possessed. It got me thinking that the Mind Flayer was building an army of Gorgons from the people in the real word - as it mirrors out own.  
> Not set in stone with this theory, I still need to think it out but it kept nagging me so i wrote this to get some of it out. 
> 
> Please tell me what you guys think! I am so interested in hearing other people's opinions on the subject!
> 
> V


End file.
